UNDERNEATH their eider-robe Russet swede and golden globe, Feathered carrot, burrowing deep, Steadfast wait in charmed sleep; Treasure-houses wherein lie, Locked by angels' alchemy, Milk and hair, and blood, and bone, Children of the barren stone; Children of the flaming Air, With his blue eye keen and bare, Spirit-peopled smiling down On frozen field and toiling town -- Toiling town that will not heed God His voice for rage and greed; Frozen fields that surpliced lie, Gazing patient at the sky; Like some marble carven nun, With folded hands when work is done, Who mute upon her tomb doth pray, Till the resurrection day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STORIES ARE MADE OF MISTAKES by JAMES GALVIN TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 12. MAGNA EST VERITAS by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON [APRIL 6, 1862] by KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD ON THE SUN COMING OUT IN THE AFTERNOON by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE HOUSE OF THE FALSE PROPHET by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |